


The Bitten

by FlameBlownWhiter



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Allison and Scott are broken up, Allison is still alive, Alternate Universe - Homeless, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Band Fic, Derek never came back to Beacon Hills, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, F/M, Lydia is still super smart, M/M, Mild Off Screen Sexual Abuse, Mildly Dubious Consent, New York City, Prostitution, Punk Rock, Stiles is kind of a rock g-d, There is no Alpha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 11:56:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1940106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlameBlownWhiter/pseuds/FlameBlownWhiter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott McCall moved to New York to be with his girlfriend and keep his band, The Bitten, together. Six months later, everything has changed. </p><p>For notes about what makes this an AU, please see below. If you want to remain spoiler free feel free to skip.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bitten

**Author's Note:**

> This is a punk rock AU. For the purposes of this story following Stiles' mother's diagnosis the Stilinski family moved to Long Island to be closer to specialists. He never stayed in Beacon Hills and does not know the McCall's. Derek also never returns to Beacon Hills, Peter does wake up out of his comma and eventually tries to form a pack biting both Scott and Jackson, but with the help of Deaton are able to kill him. Neither make the killing blow, so they live as Omega's - packless. 
> 
> Inspired by this amazing art: https://31.media.tumblr.com/f924f605fdec31a0c54e87146ec1e081/tumblr_n44amkRNtT1t0hsuqo1_500.jpg
> 
> This part is a prologue of sorts - though it has an ending. There is more backstory, but I will leave that for future parts.

“Scott, get up - big, big day!”

The blackout curtain that acted as his bedroom door waved heavily as Lydia breezed by. Scott rubbed his nose back and forth over his pillow before wrapping his arms around it and burrowing further into sleep. It was a big day, he could use five more minutes...

The curtain slid open, with the high-pitched scrape of metal sliding over metal that sent Scott’s overly sensitive hearing reeling. Jumping up, he turned towards Lydia, who was standing silhouetted in the doorway.

“Really, Scott?” Lydia said, bored by this conversation already, one eyebrow raised in mock annoyance. “You haven’t even finished packing?”

Scott looked around his makeshift room. It was mostly empty - he, Jackson and Danny had already moved his furniture into their apartment in Union Square. There were a few clothes lying around, the chains attached to the support beam, and the bedclothes, but it wasn’t all that much. Still, he understood why Lydia was so anxious to get him out. If he were still dating Allison, he wouldn’t want an ex of hers still living with them, even if they were all friends.

“It will only take a minute,”  he said, smiling back at her. She answered with a small smile, unable to help herself, before turning around and throwing her hands in the air, exclaiming _boys - always a problem_.

Scott smiled. He loved Lydia in his own way - she wasn’t anything like he originally thought she was. Growing up he thought that she was vapid - not that Scott knew what the word vapid meant until the SATs, but he knew she was a girly girl, she liked pink, and makeup, and pretty tall boys like Jackson. Her biggest sin was caring that she was popular. Lydia never would have given him the time of day if it hadn’t been for lacrosse, Allison, and lycanthropy.

Through a series of unfortunate (and fortunate) events Scott had gotten close to Lydia, and when he did, his opinion of her completely changed. She was smart, so incredibly smart - _well,_  Scott mused,   _you’d have to be to end up at Columbia_.

Scott jumped off the sofa bed and immediately began stripping it down. The couch would be something he would not miss. When Allison and him broke up for the last time, they were still living together in their Brooklyn apartment, until their landlord kicked them out for making “too much of that _noise_.” He had originally given Allison the bed, but then Lydia had taken them in. It hadn’t taken long until the girls didn’t need two beds.

Putting the last of the cushions on the couch, he flopped onto the red soft microsuede. “Goodbye, old friend. You weren’t the bed I deserved, but you were the couch I needed.”

He heard Allison’s giggle and looked up as she came into the den. She was wearing what he had dubbed her “band practice attire” - skinny black jeans, a too-large t-shirt hanging off one shoulder (white with black graffiti writing), and her silver chain, which Scott knew held her keys and a semi-dulled silver arrow head at the end of it. She yanked her keys out of her back pocket by the chain and walked over to the support beam in the back of the room.

“You’ll be back, you know, it’s not like we are banishing you,” she said, disconnecting a key from her key ring and reaching for the padlock that held the chains to the wall.

“I know,” Scott said assuredly. He got it, _he did_. He sat up on the couch, leaning over to pick up the rest of his clothes, and threw them in his suitcase. Scott could hear her gathering up his chains. She walked back and gently moved his clothes to the side before pouring the chains into his suitcase. She sat beside him and knocked her shoulder against his until he looked up.

“You do, right? If it doesn’t work out with Jackson and Danny we’ll make something work - ok?”  Scott couldn’t help noticing how beautiful she looked. Her dark hair and pale skin stuck out so much in Beacon Hills, but here in New York she was at home. They moved here after high school to keep the band together, and it worked. The band stayed together - it’s just that Allison and Scott _didn’t_.

“Yeah, I do.” He smiled up at her. The girl he’d always love, just not always be in love with… “Listen, don’t feel bad about this, ok. It’s for the best. At least this way I get a real bed.”

She smiled back at him, her nose wrinkling in a way that used to make his heart flutter frantically. “You better appreciate that, McCall. I loved that mattress.”

"Yeah, but you like being in Lydia's bed more."

She raised both her eyebrows suggestively at him.  "You better believe it."

"Pervert."

"Prude!" She smiled and tucked her tongue behind her teeth like she had something to say before breaking the moment and looking down. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a thick silver key - the key to his chains. Alison looked down at it like it symbolized the end. "I guess I should return this."

Scott picked the key up gently from the palm of her hand.  "I haven't needed them much since moving here." It was true. A lot of things had changed in New York - but nothing more drastically than his curse. In Beacon Hills, Jackson and he were two struggling Omegas, little better than wild animals. Alison and Lydia could only help them so much. But in New York he could almost be normal. New York reeked of everything, there were thousands of sounds every second, it was as if there was so much of everything that his werewolf senses just tuned it out. He could still see better, smell better and hear better - but just barely. Even on the full moon, more and more he and Jackson felt in control enough to go wander around Central Park for a few hours, scaring the thugs and would-be rapists.

Alison picked up his free hand and placed it on top of the one holding the key, clasping his joined hands in between hers. “Give the key to Danny, hmm, just in case?”

“Yeah, I promise,” Scott said, shaking their hands apart and rising to zip up his suitcase. He wondered to himself when touching her would be easy again, how long it would take before the feel of her skin against his didn’t cause some sort of ache.  Alison just watched him from the couch.

He smelled Lydia’s perfume before she rounded the corner. Her red hair was wavy today, half pinned back in a teased-out bun. She wore a black blazer over a white and black dress with a studded neon orange patent leather belt and matching heels. She looked incredible and frightening.

“Oh good, you’re done! We only have forty minutes until we have to meet the boys at the rehearsal space,” she said, looking at her watch.

“Lydia, you look gorgeous,” Alison said, walking over to her. Lydia beamed a proud smile that somehow said _thank you_ and _I know_ at the same time. “But you are going to scare away everyone who auditions in the get-up.”

“That’s ridiculous! If a singer can’t handle a woman in stilettos, they can’t be your lead singer,” Lydia said, smirking.

Alison said “But we’re a punk band” at the same time that Scott said “A test? Do we need to test them?”  

Scott grabbed his bag, moving to follow them, ignoring the sharp metallic sound of the chains inside.

Lydia looked back at him and winked. “Honey, everything I do is a test.”

+++

 

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK!” Stiles clutched his mouth, his hand coming back wet and red. “Fuck! Fucking asshole!” He could hear Harris choking in the small alleyway behind him. “Serves you right, fucking dick!” he yelled behind him as he kept moving away, towards the main street. “Explain that to your wife!”

Stiles was so busy being furious he rushed headfirst into Boyd. Well, not Boyd today, Charene. Charene was a part of his street family, along with Erica and Isaac, and Stiles must have been pissed to have missed her. Her hair was a tall blue fro today, her top was a cut off tube top made up of purple sequins and her shorts were small, tight, gold lame. How Charene managed to hide her penis in those things he’d never know.  

“Hey, hey, sugar, what happened?” Her voice was smooth, low and sympathetic and it automatically calmed Stiles’ racing heart. He took a deep breathe in and met her dark eyes.

“Harris is getting a little too handsy,” he said to her as he took his hand away from his face, letting her see the large gash in his upper lip. “I have to run, I’m not sure I’ll be at the pier tonight.” The pier was were he and most of the gay homeless kids of Manhattan slept every night. He usually slept there with his family, safety in numbers and all that.

“Fucking hell, Stiles. Erica’s gonna be pissed. Harris won’t be getting any boy loving for a while.” Charene took out a napkin from her bra and dabbed Stiles’ lip with it. Erica was fierce, and was the one who kept them safe when they were strolling. “You really should clean that out proper. Find a CVS bathroom or something."

Stiles nodded and allowed her to dab a bit more at his face while he reached into his right front pocket to feel the crisp twenty dollar bill inside. At least he had what he needed.

Charene took her hand away and stopped, looking down at Stiles’ hands, “What are you going to do with those?” she said, motioning to the square-shaped glasses in his left hand. He had completely forgotten they were there.

“Oh what, these?” He picked them up and raised his voice a little louder. “These _glasses_?” He could hear Harris curse from the alley. He smiled and winked at Charene, his mouth open a bit in anticipation. “They’re garbage.”

Stiles chucked the glasses into the wall with a sharp _thwack_. One of the lenses cracked on impact. He brought his military-style black and silver boot (dulled from everyday wear but still pretty cool in Stiles’ opinion) down onto the glasses, shattering them and bending the rims beyond repair. “No one is going to need those, ever again.”

Charene’s voice dropped down into her natural register and muttered to herself, “Serves him fucking right,” and followed Stiles to the corner. “So, hero - where are you off to?”

Stiles turned right, towards the subway, and pulled out a flier. It was one of those Instagrammed photos with that yellow/orange filter. It had big words on the top with a jagged edge that read “SINGERS NEEDED - AUDITIONS FRIDAY.” Under that was a band logo for “The Bitten,” framed by a topless bass player. The guy was hot. His tattoos and hair were the darkest thing in the photo, and the face was mostly hidden as he leaned over, his back bowed over the bass; but whoever he was, he had some nice arms.

“Never heard of them, but I wouldn’t mind a piece of that,” Charene said over his shoulder.

“Those muscles, right? Isaac was at their gig three weeks ago and said they were alright. But. Do you see what I see? I mean, he’s probably straight but, yowzah.” Stiles read the address for about the three hundredth time that week. He had it memorized, but it was always good to be sure. He tapped the flier against his hand three times, a nervous gesture he never managed to drop, before folding it back up and putting it in his pocket, alongside the mint twenty.

Charene sighed. “Who’s straight these days?” She paused for a second, watching Stiles fidget with the corner of the flier that poked out of his pocket.  “You auditioning?” she asked, sort of unenthusiastically. Charene liked his singing, but didn’t care too much about it. Charlene _vogued_. Most of the gay kids in New York vogued - a sort of Madonna-esque, disco thing - that Stiles had absolutely no rhythm for.

“Oh shut up,” Stiles said, turning uptown and away from Charene. “I can’t dance, but I can sing. You should come and watch me fail at this audition.”

“Can’t baby, I have counselling at the youth center.” Charene pouted as the traffic light lit up and she crossed the street. Leaning back she yelled, “Good luck! Get that money!”

Stiles laughed full and loud and it made his lips sting. He turned the corner and made a quick left into the CVS, taking Charene’s advice and finding a bathroom. He only looked in the mirror for a second. He looked like every other white homeless boy - tight, ripped jeans, boots, and a black thermal, except his was stained with pre-cum and blood.

“Oh, oh fucking hell.” Stiles threw his backpack on the grimy, once-white-now-grey tile and unzipped the top section. He dug deep to find his last clean shirt. pulling it out and unfolding it, gently taking the dryer sheets from inside the t-shirt and putting them on the sink.

He stripped out of his shirt and balled the offensive material up with the dryer sheets before sticking it back into the bag. After washing his face and tugging on the clean shirt he was ready to go. He shrugged on his backpack, using it as a shield to get a quick five-finger discount on a water bottle as he left the store.

He was officially back on the road. “Mission 1: Get $20” was complete! Stiles allowed himself a little congratulatory wiggle dance as he walked in celebration. And he didn’t even have to suck Harris’s cock to do it. Yeah, he was a bit bloody - but hey, maybe it would make him look more rock ‘n roll.

Stiles raised the bottle to his mouth, using the cold bottle to relieve the throbbing in his lip as he walked. He needed the money to pay the old man at the music shop on 40th to restring his guitar. His guitar was the one important piece of property he owned, one of the few things from before, but it had a missing string and wasn’t tuned right. He had dropped it off at a store as soon as he heard about the audition. But it was going to cost him $17.50 - which was how he got the split lip to begin with.

Everytime he did it, he swore it was the last time. It didn’t matter how safe the kids tried to make it for each other, how they vetted johns and looked out for each other: it was still the fastest way to get killed, sick, or end up with HIV.

It wasn’t that Stiles minded using his body - but usually it was more trade-oriented. Sex for pot, sex for new shoes, etc. He didn’t usually do it for cash unless he was desperate. Even then, he had been desperate enough times to collect a few regulars. For some reason, Harris had particularly liked him - or liked to degrade him. Which, whatever; as long as he was getting paid for it, Stiles really didn’t care.

Ever since he saw the flier in the subway he was obsessed. He loved to sing, and he needed a job, a real job, or he was never going to be able to get himself figured out. And if nothing else, he really wanted to know what the rest of the bass player’s muscles looked like.

He turned another corner and moved into the part of the city that always smelled like some sort of unholy trinity of hot dogs, mangos, and sweat. To Stiles, it smelled like victory.

+++

It was hot as fuck in the black box club that Lydia booked, and everyone was quickly approaching their breaking point. The sound of a slammed door echoed throughout the empty club, dust flying in the wake of the shut-out sunlight as Lydia unceremoniously dismissed another would-be front man. Scott was impressed by how many synonyms Lydia had for “bad.”

“Lydia, how much longer do we have to sit through these?” Jackson said loudly from the stage, focusing his frustration on Lydia, who was sitting in the back of the theatre.

Lydia leaned forward, staring Jackson down. Scott couldn’t clearly see her expression, but he was sure it was dripping with disdain. “We have another thirty…” she looked down at her phone, “three minutes. Until then, we are going to make the most of this space and listen to whoever walks through that door.”

“This is torture. Where did you even place the fliers?” Jackson kicked at the side of the stage, adding to the multitude of scuff marks on the matte black walls.  “There hasn’t been a decent singer yet.”

Scott cleared his throat. “The second guy was pretty good.”

“That was three hours ago! You have my hearing - that’s three hours of too sharp assholes who think they can scream sing like Chester fucking Bennington. It’s enough, I’m done!"

Jackson ducked out from under his guitar strap and began gathering his picks.

Lydia shot up from her seat. “You are not done. Jackson. Jackson! Put that guitar back on - now!” Her voice was loud and clear. Jackson ignored her and started to walk off the stage.

Danny and Allison stayed silent, not wanting to get in the middle of a Jackson-Lydia piss-off. Scott wasn’t that smart.

He reached out for Jackson, his hand grasping at his red leather jacket. Jackson turned towards Scott so fast it made him jump back a few feet. He landed in a crouch and when he looked up, Jackson’s eyes were a brilliant neon blue.

Scott calmed his breathing and raised his hands up and slowly. It was moments like these where he gave some serious consideration to joining a pack. He and Jackson had been able to lean on each other and figure things out, but it had been rough with no Alpha. Even when they had Peter, it wasn’t like he taught them anything.

Everything was happening so fast. Scott could already hear the click-clack of Lydia’s heels as she raced across the venue’s floor, the snarl from Jackson’s lips, the startled breath from Danny. Scott was about to shift and try to force some control when Danny dashed in front of him, with all the quickness and athleticism four years of competitive lacrosse gives a person.

Danny stood in between the two werewolves, his eyes never leaving Jackson’s.

“Hey, Jax, look at me. Look at me.” Danny’s voice was calm, his size almost completely shielding Scott from Jackson’s view, but Scott could still see the tick of Jackson’s gaze as it shifted from him to Danny. “Hi, I’m going to walk toward you, ok?”

Slowly Danny moved forward, inch by inch, until he was touching Jackson’s shoulder. As soon as he made contact, Jackson reached out and hugged him hard to his chest. Danny made a small oomph noise and Jackson loosened his hold, resting his head on Danny’s shoulder. He looked at Scott with his clear, human eyes.

“Sorry, man, don’t know what came over me,” Jackson said, taking one last long breath through his nose, before releasing Danny. Scott looked between them for a moment, relieved.

“No worries, it’s been a long day, full moon is tomorrow, I get it. But, maybe it is time to take a break?” Scott said, eyes dashing to Lydia.

Alison did a quick five-beat rhythm to get their attention, her mouth open to speak, when the venue door opened, letting a quick burst of daylight into the room.

“Oh shit, am I too late? The flier said till 5:00 - or did you find someone already - shit.”

The guy was small, taller than Scott, but small. He looked young and thin, miles of pale skin and freckles, topped with shaggy brown hair.  Honestly, he looked like a lot of kids in New York. Scott inhaled deeply. The kid must have just done laundry, caused he smelled like a laundromat, wood and oil - and something musky, too, that Scott couldn’t identify.

Everyone looked at Jackson, who just shrugged, and put the guitar strap back on. Lydia looked smug as she turned towards the new kid, her lips flat and pursed, her heels dangerous.

“I suppose we have time for one more. What’s your name?”  Lydia asked, feigning disinterest.

“Stiles, and great, that’s great! Awesome belt by the way, my sister would kill for that.” The kid rushed towards the stage like they might realize their mistake and kick him out any moment. He kept moving his hands, too, up and down the case he carried. Scott turned his head, amused and smiling a little. Stiles was definitely a weird one.

Lydia was visibly brightening. “Stiles…” she asked, drawing out the first half of his name.  

“Just Stiles,” he said without looking at them. He gently placed his case on the ground and opened it to reveal an acoustic guitar. The guitar looked well taken care of, but there was no hiding its age. Stiles must have had it for years.

Jackson scoffed beside him. “We don’t need a guitarist, you know. We got three.”

Stiles looked up, his long thin fingers gently cradling the neck of his acoustic. Scott choked down a sympathetic moan. The kids eyes had gone from bright and excited to something deeper than disappointment. Stiles eyes fell to the floor and his shoulders came in around him as he lowered the guitar back into the case.

“Ok, no big deal – “ His voice was empty and hollow. Scott opened his mouth to say something, unable to take it anymore.

“Ignore Jackson, you can use it,” Allison said, glaring in Jackson’s general direction. “Uh, you do know we are a punk band though, right, we won’t be using acoustics.”

“Oh yeah! Totally!” Stiles said jumping up and throwing the guitar strap over his shoulder. Scott had whiplash just watching him. “I just…” He made a motion with his hands. “You know? It would just be for today.”

“Sure,” Allison said, smiling at Stiles kindly. Scott could tell that she didn’t think he had the chops, but was too nice to say anything. “Do you want me and Scott to accompany?”

“Scott?” Stiles said, looking between Danny and Scott.

“Our bassist,” she said and pointed at Scott with her sticks. He smiled a little and lifted his bass in greeting.

“Ohhhh, muscles! Sure, that would be great,” Stiles said, all teeth. Alison laughed and Lydia rolled her eyes. Scott just watched the kid prep. There was something about the boy, Scott couldn’t keep him eyes off him. He wasn’t sure it would translate to an audience, but Scott was quickly becoming a fan of the boy’s energy. But, _uh - muscles_?

“What do you mean?” It was out of his mouth before he could catch himself.

“He speaks! Mean by what - oh, muscles? Well, you are the one on the flyer right? You just - well - look at you!” Stiles said gesturing to all of him with his free hand. Scott looked down but honestly didn’t see anything all that special.

“So, you’re gay?” Jackson said matter of factly. Alison let her sticks hit the floor in frustration. They bounced pointedly before Stiles replied.

“Yeah, have a problem with that?

He stood tall, though almost a full foot shorter than Jackson.

“Oh geez, Jackson, shut up!” Danny said, stepping in between them and putting out his hand in greeting.  “Hi, I am Danny, Jackson’s best friend since birth. I’ve been out since the 8th grade.”

“Oh, ok cool.” After a second of surprise Stiles took Danny’s hand.  “So, no gay quota or anything? One gay is cool, but two is just not punk enough?”

Danny shook his head. “No, nothing like that.”

“And it’s more like two,” Alison replied casually, reaching for a spare set of sticks.

“Two point five,” Lydia said quickly.

“Sweet, lady love! And I mean that with all due respect!” Stiles said quickly, looking nervously at Lydia’s heels.

“Alright! Enough gab.” Lydia’s hair fanned out as she made a sudden turn and walked back to her spot in the back of the theatre. “What song are you singing?”

“‘Closer,’ by Nine Inch Nails.”

“ _Closer_ ,” Jackson said, choking on his surprise. “You?”

“Oh, you have no idea, big boy,” Stiles said, winking at Jackson. Chuckling, he turned to Scott, raising an eyebrow in a mock-flirtatious gesture. “You know it?”

Scott blushed, despite himself. “Yeah. Yeah, I know it.”

“Cool,” Stiles said, strumming the first eight counts of the song.

“Anytime you are ready,”  Lydia said, resuming her normal position in the back of the club.

“On my mark.” Allison called, “1, 2, 3, 4!"

Scott’s eyes were on his hands as he began the beat of the song. He hadn’t played it in a while, but the hard bass, the steady sexual hum came back easily. He was still looking at his fingers as they tripped over the strings when Stiles started the song.

“ _You let me violate you_ ,”

Stiles’ first note clawed its way through Scott. It was like the bite, it was like the wolf on a full moon. Hungry. Stiles’ voice growled into the words, controlled, soft, and dark.

“ _You let me desecrate you…”_

Stiles had completely caught Scott off guard, he was completely unprepared for how _right_ it was to have Stiles on the stage. He looked up, and if the shocked red “O” on Lydia’s face was any indicator, she hadn’t suspected it either. Stiles owned the song. He got louder, more intense, one step away from screaming as he finished the first verse and roared into the second.

“ _Help me, I’ve pulled apart my insides; help me, I’ve got no soul to sell._ ”

Stiles started moving across the stage, leaning towards Danny - hips swaying - flirting with an invisible crowd.  “ _Help me, you make me perfect. Help me think I’m somebody else._ ”

Scott could see the smirk on Stiles’ face as he reared suddenly towards Scott. He crossed the stage in long steps that reminded Scott of a panther, drawing out the final syllable of “else” before standing a foot away from Scott, their eyes meeting. Scott was the wolf, but Stiles was the predator.

“ _I want to fuck you like an animal. I want to feel you from the inside._ ”

Scott could feel his cheeks heat up, could feel the wolf under his skin. Stiles’ smirk turned into a real smile as he winked and turned back towards the crowd to finish the chorus. Scott was hard, so suddenly hard that he missed a note. Painfully he positioned his bass in front of him for the rest of the song and Stiles thankfully kept a majority of his attentions on Lydia until the final cords.

Scott was praying no one noticed the situation in his pants. He’d never really thought about a boy before, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t heard the song before, but there was something about the way Stiles had attacked the song, growled into the words, that had made his blood boil. Scott wiped sweat from his brow and looked up when Lydia cleared her throat.

“Thank you, we will discuss it and - “

“Fuck that, he’s our guy,” Danny said, risking his life to interrupt Lydia.

“Yeah, that was hot,” Alison said, throwing her sticks to the side and launching off of her stool. She pulled Stiles into a one armed hug, her top riding up to show a nice slice of smooth stomach - not that Scott noticed. His attentions were elsewhere.

“Really?” Stiles said, his lopsided grin huge and goofy. “You mean it?”

Lydia shrugged, “I guess so.”

“What do you think, muscles?” Stiles popped his hip out towards him and Scott shook his head in disbelief.

“Yeah man, you’re the best we’ve heard all day. And the name is Scott.”

“I know.”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “So we practice Mondays, Wednesdays, and Sundays, and more days before a performance. That good?”

“Yeah man, that’s great! Is it always here?” Stiles looked around the room appreciatively.

“No I wish, we practice at the university - Columbia - in an open rehearsal space.” Lydia smiled, “You go there?”

“No, not so much, but I know where it is.” Stiles shifted his weight on his feet, pulling his guitar strap over his head. Scott could smell his anxiety. “So, uh, are you all students? I didn’t find the flier on campus, but…”

“No, no. Most of us, well, we moved here for the band. Lydia is just the super smart one.” Jackson began to puff up, so Scott amended, “And some of us go to NYU, but not all of us - well, not me.”

“Ok cool, so, the practice rooms then? Sunday at what time?” Stiles leaned down and put his guitar away. Picking up the case, he began to bounce on the balls on his feet.

“Pra-”

“Practice starts at 3.” Scott interrupted Lydia. She pierced her lips at him, questioning, before turning back to Stiles.

“We’ll see you then?” she said, dismissing Stiles.

“Yeah, definitely, and thanks! This is going to be great!” He tripped his way down the staircase, protecting his guitar with two hands and waved as he opened the door to let himself out.

Scott raised his right hand to his chest and gave a small wave back. The door closed definitively and Scott blinked, looking up to see Jackson looking at him with contempt.

“What? What did I do now?” Scott said, frustrated and not looking for another fight.

“A boner? Really, McCall? Over him?” Jackson said, sniffing the air.

Scott could feel all the blood rush to his face. He had forgotten about Jackson. He looked around and Danny was smirking, Lydia was typing something into her phone, and Alison had one perfect eyebrow raised in his direction.

“Uh - “ Scott started, but Jackson continued.

“This is getting insane - we can’t all be gay, right?”

Wisely, for once, no one said a thing.

 

****  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Feel free to leave comments and let me know if you think I should continue this AU. :) 
> 
> To my artist: I am so sorry this is not longer! I planned for this fic to be completely finished but life stuff happened. I got engaged and I moved... but I hope you like what I have here. There is a lot of backstory so I hope to come back to it soon. :) Thank you for the amazing pictures and prompt!


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